It would be fascinating to know why Edna Negron’s name popped into my head after 20 years. What synaptic links led to and retrieved the name of this remarkable woman who chose to serve as principal of one of the toughest, poorest elementary schools in Hartford, Connecticut? The etched memory had little or nothing to do with preventing crime, building community, or curbing the school dropout rate. It had to do with a conversation between Edna and Pepe, our waiter at dinner. I have never forgotten the question she asked him.
I recall a fair amount from the many programs we designed and ran under the aegis of the National Crime Prevention Council. But I don’t think I’ve either thought of or referred to the initiative Community Responses to Drug Abuse (CRDA) for more than 20 years. CRDA with 10 pilot sites across the country (Hartford among them) rested on three pillars: focused law enforcement, community development, and work with youth. We learned that communities in which neighbors know and care about each other and their families and are actively involved together with police and other local agencies are safer communities. Even more crucial, these connections helped create oases of hope in crime-plagued communities. In the many interviews we conducted in Hartford with police, social workers, health and housing officials, local business owners, and many others, Edna’s name kept popping up. I had to meet her, and did.
We met at a small Spanish café. When the three of us — Edna, her boyfriend and I–walked into the restaurant, heads swiveled. Everyone, it seemed, greeted her. I recall this: her joy, her hearty greeting of everyone by name, her humor, and her implacable commitment to serving kids and their families who lived in Hartford’s most torn neighborhoods.
Our waiter hovered close. He couldn’t do enough for us. At one point during the meal, Edna turned to Pepe and said, “Pepe, please sit down. Something’s wrong.” He sat. She placed her hand on his forearm and said, “Talk to me, Pepe.”
And he did: a long, sad tale of the recent death of his beloved father who had wandered from his village in Andalusia, who had fallen and subsequently froze to death. Pepe had planned to visit his father at Christmas.
Accompanied by tears, the tale was long, a tale of working in the fields in Spain with his father. After Pepe finished, we were quiet until Edna gently broke the spell: “Pepe. You loved your father. Where will your love go now?” Pepe looked at Edna through his tears, seemingly stunned. Suddenly he pushed back his chair and left only to return quickly with two bottles of wine. He set the glasses before each of us and filled them. “My niece,” he said, “My niece.” “My niece’s father just died. I will be like a father to her, Edna. That’s where my love will go now.” We celebrated Pepe and his epiphany.
Is not Edna’s gentle question that touched and spurred Pepe’s very core, THE question for each one of us now[? Whatever loss you might be mourning, and especially now during this raging pandemic, is there a better guide, a better North Star than Edna’s question, “Where will your love go now?”
Written by Jack Calhoun
Mr. Calhoun is an internationally renowned public speaker and frequent media guest, editorial contributor and author of three books. He is the founder and CEO of Hope Matters. For more than 20 years, Mr. Calhoun was the founding president of the National Crime Prevention Council, prior to which he served under President Carter as the Commissioner of the Administration for Children, Youth and Families. Click on “Contact” to book Mr. Calhoun to speak at your next conference. All speaking topics are available at: www.HopeMatters.org/Speaker
